I was watching Wimbledon this summer and someone remarked that some of the tennis star’s “WAGs” were more attractive than the players. “I’m sure she’s not with him for the money,” was the sarcastic comment. It’s been quite a long thought process for me, but that got me thinking – aren’t all the ways we judge others worthy of love completely arbitrary, whether it’s cash in the bank, the shape of their bum or the way they tell jokes? It seems to me quite an obvious, logical conclusion.

This, in a roundabout way, brings me to the question, “What is love?” There are a million love-songs, countless love stories, but all it is, when you boil it right down, is mutual attraction. It works on a multitude of levels. Some people, in an attempt to appear thoughtful, enjoy pointing out that the Ancient Greeks had several words for love, while we only have one (which, in any case, isn’t true). But even if it were, that strikes me as fine. I see no reason why there needs to be a separate term to differentiate the way I love custard from the way I love a person. It is merely acknowledging fondness for something.

There exists in our vocabulary the term, ‘true love’, by which people generally mean mutually strong, reciprocal feelings of attraction, however fleeting. It can also mean “often over-romanticised displays of affection that our culture deems necessary to prove one truly cares for another”. It can also mean putting up with mundane things as though expecting no reward, despite the fact that there is payback. As I’ve mentioned before, love is comprised largely of emotional blackmail and guilt.

What I’m driving at here is that all attraction is arbitrary. There are no “soulmates”, no “star-cross’d lovers”. Romeo and Juliet were two kids who fell in love in particularly unfortunate circumstances. That kind of tragedy is not proof of anything more profound than human irrationality (and yes, I know they’re fictional characters).

Love is not eternal, love is not powerful, love is not mystical. Love is temporary, love is natural and love is pretty damn simple. There is no ‘true love’, there is no universal recipe for it. It’s game theory or something.

Love is not blind. Turns out it’s just as judgemental, shallow, irrational and ill-informed  as you are. Funny, that.

It’s shit, isn’t it?

Well, most of the time.

I discussed a possible night out with a friend yesterday, and described his venue of choice as a “fetid cuntdump”, before realising that description could apply to almost anywhere. There are very few clubs that don’t have enormous downsides, at least where I’m from. There are several things that clubs can get wrong, but the biggest one is always the people who go there. I’ll try to break down a few here.

Chain Megaclubs

You’ve probably been to one of these plenty of times – the big clubs that are the same whichever city you happen to be in. The clientele of these clubs are stag and hen nights, as well as a motley selection of patrons between the ages of 18 and 45. The problem with these clubs is that they try to cater to all tastes, so nothing really goes right, and from one week to another the club will either be full of bright-eyed 18 year olds or overly-drunk middle-aged folk. These clubs are like ITV, essentially. You know what you’re getting, but it’s basically crap.

Exclusive Hipster Joints

There are always a couple of these in any decent clubbing city – these places serve cocktails, play ironic 80s and 90s cheese, and are full of hipsters doing a kind of post-ironic shoulder-shuffle and adjusting their keffiyehs. The drinks are always £1.50 more than you expect them to be, and you end up spending £50 on Red Stripe half the time. These clubs are like E4. Everyone’s trying to act nonchalant, casting nervous glances at the few couples in the place actually getting it on, and telling bad apolitical jokes.

Bars-Come-Nightclubs

These places are sometimes pub chains with a dancefloor, or sometimes independent operations with a longer weekend licence and somewhere to clear away the tables. They are generally next to empty by 1am, save a collection of people who forgot to plan which club they were moving on to, and have become stuck in a kind of any-dancefloor-will-do state of limbo, downing drinks at a slightly faster rate than they should be and wondering where everyone’s gone. These clubs are like BBC Three – unsure of their real purpose but vaguely aware of what’s needed to get people through the door.

Rock Clubs

Full of people who wish it was still 2001, who are normally extremely drunk on very cheap booze. These clubs are almost always a little bit too small and dank to really be a club. Playing songs you should have grown out of, for people who want to be teenagers forever. The floors are sticky, the bars are busy, the dancefloor is full of people trying to capture something they lost in their youth. These clubs are like G.O.L.D, endlessly playing reruns of TV shows that were great in their time, but now don’t hold too much appeal.

I go out a lot, and will continue to do so. But I’ve long since given up seeing the venue as a plus point. I go out to see my friends, and to have a good time in their company. The setting for this happens to be a nightclub a lot of the time, but if there was a social arena that served alcohol ’til the early hours and avoided the problems above, it would make everything an awful lot more fun.

Bruno Mars – Grenade

I’d catch a grenade for ya

On one hand, it’s a rare man that you find who would be willing to die for you. On the other hand, one that would die for you – despite no reciprocation at all – is clearly the wrong side of the cute/creepy line (it’s a very thin line).
What is difficult to understand, is why he’s bothering dating someone with so much baggage anyway. Why does everyone want to kill his girlfriend – throw grenades at her, try to run her over with a train, and shoot her in the head? Really? Those are the questions we should be asking.

Katy Perry – Firework

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag?

This one falls under “Questions to which the answer is no”.

Paul Anka – You’re Having My Baby

Whoa, the seed inside ya, baby, do you feel it growin’?

You would think there are realms into which lyricists would not go. There isn’t. I sort of get it. “Yay we’re having a baby” – it’s exciting. You want to tell everyone, in glorious detail. But it’s somewhat inappropriate and cringey, and y’know – you’re not creating a GM crop, love. It’s not a seed, it’s a baby. A small human that will eventually shit and vomit all over your lovely beige carpet. I hope the next song was “The Baby Shat On The Carpet”.

Sisqo – Thong Song

She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck.

If someone said to me I had ‘dumps’ – I’d be pretty annoyed, I’ll be honest. But if someone said my ‘dumps’ were like a ‘truck, truck, truck’…. Man. I don’t think they’d even live to apologise.

Eminem Ft. Rihanna – Love The Way You Lie

There’s so much to love/hate in Love The Way You Lie, I can barely pick a favourite bad lyric. “Now you get to watch her leave out the window, guess that’s why they call it window pane” … So pun-tastic it makes me physically cringe. Ouch. It’s on a par with: “Guess that’s what happens when a tornado meets a volcano” … I’m pretty sure that would end up with death. Horrible, horrible death.
But I think the overall winning line in this song has to be: If she ever tries to fuckin’ leave again, I’mma tie her to the bed and set this house on fire.

That’s true love for you, Marshall Mathers style.

Jon’s Five

Kings of Leon – Sex on Fire

You… This sex is on fire.

This one is partially down to listening context – if I had a quid for every time I’ve been surrounded by several hundred drunk, sweaty students screaming this line at the top of their lungs, I’d be graduating with zero debt.

At its heart, the lyric is a nod to the potentially dangerous and destructive nature of sexual contact, but there are probably better ways to phrase that sentiment. If the song was less overplayed, or that line less shoutable, it wouldn’t be on this list, but unfortunately, both those criteria apply.

Shakira – Whenever, Wherever

Lucky that my breasts are small and humble, so you don’t confuse them with mountains.

Now, I’ve seen some rather large chesticulars in my time, but never have I inadvertently confused someone’s boobs with a geological feature, not even a small one like a hillock or a boulder.

The concept does offer hope to poorly-endowed gentlemen, however. Simply remark, “Lucky that my penis is tiny and only just fulfills its evolutionary purpose, so you don’t confuse it with a poisonous snake, such as a cobra or python.” Or even go further, claiming that an especially impressive knob is easily confused with a really huge natural feature, such as a redwood tree or even a river.

Color Me Badd – I Wanna Sex You Up

I wanna sex you up

Guys, come on. At least have the pop sensibility to cloak lyrics about sexual advances in creative language. Take a leaf out of the Bloodhound Gang’s book and tone things down a little (even if it’s only a little). After all, everyone loves a good innuendo here and there.

The Killers – Somebody Told Me

Somebody told me that you had a boyfriend, who looked like a girlfriend that I had in February of last year.

Highly specific information on the nature of this alleged sighting of Brandon Flowers’ old flame, here. And they roll off the tongue about as easily as two high-friction surfaces in contact with each other (I admit, I need to work on my mataphors).

Somebody told me the other day that Birds Eye fish fingers were half price in a well-known high street supermarket, but I wouldn’t feel obliged to use that information as the title lyric of a song, even though the fish fingers reminded me of a different sensory experience I had with a former partner.

Xzibit – X

…Up and down on my dick like the stock exchange.

Like the stock exchange? At best, moving a few percentage points of its possible total movement each day. Sounds like one hell of a shag, X. Really. Kudos to you.